


It’s Up to You, New York, New York

by skippingreelsofrhyme



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College AU, F/M, New York City, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skippingreelsofrhyme/pseuds/skippingreelsofrhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's graduation, and our kids are all figuring out where they're gonna go from here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Last Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> i just know that the next episode that comes out is gonna strike this from canon so i'm just playing around with some headcanons. i hope you all enjoy!  
> (ps this is gonna be a looooooong one)

                “Plagg, I was just wondering, how does this work?” Adrien was lazing on his bed, bored out of his mind. Plagg looked over his shoulder at the gangly eighteen year old boy with a pencil perched between his nose and pursed upper lip. The little cat-like kwami sighed.

                “How does what work, Adrien?”

                “You know; Chat Noir,” he rolled onto his back and placed the pencil between his feet, raised above his head.

                “Well, the Big Bad _is_ defeated,” admitted Plagg. Ladybug and Chat Noir had finally put an end to Hawkmoth’s antics the winter of their senior year; it had all been very dramatic, with snow all around, but Adrien was talking _now_. _Now_ is the night before graduation. _Now_ is the night Ladybug and Chat Noir had agreed to meet for the last time to tell each other their post-graduation plans. _Now_ is the end of an era, really, but somehow Plagg was still around. He looked out of the window at the hazy hot summer night. He was still around. It was almost as if Ladybug and Chat Noir were not yet finished with their jobs, here in this lifetime. From over on the bed, Adrien whined impatiently, obviously eager to go see Ladybug. Even after they stopped fighting evil together, after they stopped seeing each other, long after the Ladyblog stopped posting for lack of new content, he still held out. He still loved her, somehow. Plagg propped his head up on his tiny paw to observe his partner asininely flip a pencil around with his feet. It had been a long, long time since Plagg had seen Tikki, too.

                “Okay, Plagg! Transform me!” Adrien mewed, bouncing up from his bed as an alarm buzzed from his phone. Unusual for Plagg, he flew over to Adrien’s ring and willingly disappeared into it. Even Adrien was a bit surprised—Plagg almost always had to be dragged into it—but he was Chat Noir now, and he was off to see his Lady; the light of his life. Even though the summer had been hot and sunny, it was always cloudy without her.

                _Bounding across the rooftops is always so relaxing_ , thought Chat Noir. He’d missed it, he really had. Not being Chat felt like a whole part of his life was missing. Well, it kind of was. Ladybug was one of his only true friends in the world. Sure, he could have tried more to make friends with people in his class for instance, but it was so hard to tell who liked him for him or for his fame. It was just easier to be pleasant and slightly formal with everyone. No enemies, no friends. Except for Nino, but Nino was always an exception. Chat Noir almost slipped from his staff as the sudden realization that he and Nino wouldn’t be sitting next to each other in class anymore hit him hard. Nino had been his friend for so long, he could barely imagine a world without him… _or_ Ladybug. Chat stopped leaping and fell onto a roof, clutching his heart. Emotion was crippling; no wonder he tried not to form any close bonds. Everything’s got to end someday. He stood up with a shaky breath and walked over the roofs for the few blocks he had left between him and the meeting spot, only leaping when he had to cross a street. When Chat caught a glimpse of red streaking down to where he was headed, he sped up the pace. Forget cautious optimism, pretty much the only reason Ladybug could have for meeting him was to confess her long-restrained love, and say she’d follow him anywhere. Chat rounded a chimney, and there she was: her face had slimmed, and her body fat had migrated to a more adult feminine figure, but overall she retained a youthful shape. She turned to catch his eye and smiled, the romantic lights of the Eifel tower setting her aglow.

                “Hi Chat,” she said. She looked back to the tower, smile turned wistful.

                “Hi, Lady,” he replied, sitting down next to her. He leaned towards her and bumped his shoulder into her. She tilted her head to bonk it on his arm in recognition. Chat smiled, a bit nervous. “It’s… it’s been a while, huh?”

                “It has,” she said, looking up where the tower scraped the sky. He followed her gaze up into the darkness that wasn’t ever quite black.

                “I missed you,” said Chat, still looking up. They were sitting very close.

                “I don’t think missing goes away,” said Ladybug, leaning away. Chat looked down at her, her weight propped up on her elbows. He leaned down on his side to remain on her level. She had a pained expression.

                “What’s wrong?”

                “Well, nothing. Everything’s going right,” she exhaled. “But it’s still hard. It’s hard to leave. It’s hard to watch other people leave.”

                Chat didn’t respond. She sure did hit the nail on the head with that one. He looked down at her hand, clenched into a fist, and gave up. She was young, just like him. And, just like him, she had plans for that youth that didn’t involve a superhero alter ego, or some pesky partner with a crush the size of Europe.

                “Chat, I’m going to New York City for uni.” Chat inhaled, his eyes wide. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Ladybug noticed and sat up. “Chat! Chat, are you okay?”

                “I—” Chat gasped. Exactly one week ago, he’d received a phone call.

 

_“Hello, this is Adrien.”_

_“Adrien? Adrien?”_

_“Y-yes? Who is this?”_

_“Oh my god, it’s really you. Oh, Adrien,” a familiar voice crackled in broken French. It seemed to be a middle-aged woman._

_“I’m sorry I don’t take fan calls on this line,” said Adrien, about to hang up._

_“It’s me!” the voice cried. “Oh Adrien, it’s me. Mama.”_

_“Ma—” he stammered. He clapped a hand over his mouth._

_“Yes! It’s me. H-happy birthday, sweetheart,” the voice said apologetically. Adrien gripped his cell phone so tight, it could have shattered. “I’m so, so sorry.”_

_“Mama, is it really you?” he said, visibly shaking. She had been gone for years now. Years and years._

_“It is, baby! After the divorce and your father got custody, he wouldn’t let me talk to you until you were eighteen.”_

_“Divorce?” Father had never mentioned a divorce. One day she was just gone, and all the questions in the world would not get his father to budge on an answer._

_“Yes, and I couldn’t take you, I was coming here, to New York, to be an artist, and I didn’t have any money to take care of you, so just hoped and prayed you didn’t blame me, because all I’ve ever wanted was to take care of you.”_

_“New York City?” Adrien stuttered. He’d had no earthly idea what had happened to his mother. She could have been dead or anything, and he wouldn’t have known. And now, here she was, on the other end of the line, in America of all places, telling him what had really happened. Of course she had divorced him, his father was a piece of shit excuse for a human, and of course he had gotten everything, he had all the lawyers, and his mother was an artist. And she was on the other end of the line. In New York City._

_“Oh god, Adrien, I so am sorry, but I couldn’t go against the orders. I’ve been following your career and I’m very proud of you, sweetheart. And I know this has all got to be very sudden, but I, uh, I wanted to let you know that you are welcome here. With me, in New York. I don’t know what your plans are, but I just—”_

_“I want to go to New York!” he yelled into the receiver. “I want to see you.”_

_“Adrien, I—I know you do, but don’t give up your plans…”_

_“I don’t have any. I don’t care about anything. I want to come be with you,” Adrien’s voice cracked as tears began to stream down his face. He could hear small sobs from the other end._

_“Oh baby, I don’t know if your father will let you.”_

_“He doesn’t control me! I have my own money. I can make money, too. I’ll go to New York City and I’ll model and we can live together and be happy.”_

_“Adrien, don’t you want to go to college?”_

_“College?”_

_“Oh, university. You should continue your education. What do you like to study? Modeling?”_

_“No,” said Adrien. He glanced over to his library crowded with scientific books, full of theories and equations. “I like physics.”_

_“There’s lots of schools in New York with physics! You could… I mean, I don’t want to push you…”_

_“No, that’s perfect,” breathed Adrien. His father and all his money be damned, he was going to New York City to study physics._

 

                “I—” Chat gasped again.

                “Oh my god,” said Ladybug, obviously thinking he needed medical assistance.

                “No, no,” he said, snapping out of his reverie. “It’s just—I’m—I’m going to New York, too.”

                “You—” Ladybug began. “R-really?”

                “Yes!” Chat cried. He sat up and flung his arms around Ladybug’s neck, tears beginning to fall. “I really thought I’d never see you again.”

                Ladybug haltingly put her arms around his back to return his embrace. Chat had known that Ladybug still would never agree to admit their secret identities, but now that they were going to the same city, they could still meet up in uniform, at least sometimes. His chest heaved with sobs, and Ladybug’s arms clenching tighter around him probably made it worse. Sometimes, he’d second-guess himself, that maybe Ladybug didn’t ever really like him, that he was just some useless tagalong, but it was moments like this one, where she was simply letting him cry on her shoulder, that told him she cared. Chat had pulled every string he had in his reserve to get into NYU so late in the process, as well as book a modeling contract in the city to get himself through school; his father had instantly disapproved and informed his son he would not support him financially if he made this decision. Though neither brought up Adrien’s mother, it was obvious she was why Adrien insisted on going. However, despite all adversity, Adrien Agreste was enrolled in NYU starting in the fall. His trust fund would be enough to carry him through until his modeling checks came in. Of course, he’d been saving his money from modeling for his father, but because he was under his father’s agency, very little of the money he technically made had gone to him. But no more; he was going to New York City, and he was going to study physics, and be with his mother, and now he’d see Ladybug too. His partner soothingly rubbed his back as he sniffled before straightening up. She held him at arm’s length, and he grinned at her, still hiccupping. Her face softened.

                “Then I guess I’ll see you in New York, kitty.”


	2. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pov will be switching between adrien and marinette with each chapter. hope you enjoy ^^

                “Oh Marinette, you look so beautiful!” Sabrine cooed over her daughter. “I think I’m going to cry!”

                “Come down here so I can see!” Tom called from down the stairs. The steep steps and tiny trapdoor was a bit too tight for him to squeeze through comfortably.

                “Don’t cry, Maman,” said Marinette smiling. Her mother sniffled.

                “But just look at you!” Marinette turned back to the mirror, swishing her dress around. It was a particularly good one—it looked almost store-bought, even though she’d patterned and built it herself. It was made of a ruddy pink silk/spandex mix with a low waistline, and the skirt had a sheer orange nylon weave over top of the pink, creating a sunset mix around her ankles as she swayed. The short sleeves were made just of the sheer nylon, folded over with both unfinished ends sewn into the armseye (so as to not have any hemming to do on the sleeves). To complement the outfit, she wore her hair in a braided bun at the back of her head and a simple pair of heeled sandals with a pale orange flower over the toes.

                Of course, they hadn’t said anything indicating this, but Marinette knew that this was the dress that got her into the Gallatin School of Fashion at NYU. It was literally perfect. She’d actually stood as the model for it when she asked Alya to help her take pictures for her portfolio, and that for sure had helped. It really suited her, despite being quite a different style than her usual garb. It was more… Mature.

                “Get down here, you two!” her father called again. Marinette jumped and her mother laughed.

                “Coming!” they both called, heading for the stairs. At the sight of his daughter, Tom clasped his hands together and closed his eyes as if to hold back tears.

                “Oh, Papa,” Marinette giggled, giving him a hug.

                “You’re just so beautiful, darling.”

                “It’s a real shame you have to wear those ugly robes over top of this masterpiece!”

                “Now Sabrine, we should be proud our daughter is wearing the robes of a scholar. And going off to study in America!” Tom sniffled again. Marinette pulled away from her father’s embrace, beaming up at him.

                “I’m so happy you’re proud of me!” she tittered, pleased as punch.

                “There’s so much to be proud of!” he smiled down at her. Marinette bounced away to her mother in the dining/living room. Sabrine held out the black robes and cap to her daughter, who immediately started putting them on. She just wore the basic robes and cap—no special braids or awards. It wasn’t like she was terribly famous for fantastic schoolwork. But she’d studied hard to get good enough grades to get her into her dream school. She’d actually applied for scholarship, and been granted almost full tuition, so she’d only be paying about the same as an in-state student would. Of course, it was still brutally expensive, as it was American university, but it was worth it to be a real, full student there. There were options to study at university in France and exchange to New York for a year or two to earn credits, but Marinette was dedicated to the full experience. Once Marinette was dressed and her mother’s clamoring for pictures was sated, the family left the bakery to walk over to the school.

                “Marinette!” Alya called from across the courtyard, running to her best friend.

                “Alya!” Marinette called back, opening her arms to meet the embrace. Alya’s force actually skidded Marinette back a bit. “Alya, you’re so beautiful!”

                “Oh Marinette, I’m gonna cry so hard!” Alya cried out, holding Marinette at arm’s length.

                “I know, me too!” Marinette shrieked, and pulled her best friend back into the hug, both girls giggling. They pulled back and walked arm in arm into the school where the graduation ceremony was taking place, followed by their families. Alya was also studying abroad, in London, for journalism, minoring in photography. Marinette smiled to herself; it was the perfect thing for her best friend. Sometimes she felt like Alya belonged in the cutthroat era of muckrakers, not this era of softness where any gossip on the internet was taken into consideration. But she did take to the technology of the now quite well.

                “Thank you all for coming; graduates, please take the seats in the centre marked with your name, guests please sit on the sides.”

 

                “—And thus concludes the graduation of the class of—”

                “WOOHOO!” the crowd of students erupted before the speaker could finish. Their black caps flew up into the air, without a care from anyone who’s they picked up and took home at the end of the day. Alya and Marinette were locked in an embrace tighter than death, laughing and crying at the same time. It was unbelievable! They were finally done. It was over! There’d be no more anything: no more stalking crushes, no more snarking during the professors’ lectures, no more sitting next to each other.

                “Wow,” said Alya, tears streaming down her face. Marinette noted she had also opted for water-proof mascara. “From Paris to London and NYC, huh?”

                “I guess we’re just city girls at heart!” laughed Marinette, her tears mirroring her best friend’s. “Good thing we’ve got skype!”

                “Girl, you know I’m bouta facetime you every chance I get!” The two girls hugged again. They were interrupted by a bunch of classmates all wanting to congratulate each other; everybody shaking hands. The weirdest thing about going to university was that American unis started in August, and their graduation was only in July. Marinette had at best a month before she had to fly away across the ocean. She’d been on planes before, once or twice, to go visit her mother’s family in China, so she wasn’t worried about the long trip. Fortunately, her last month in France was going to be spent with her and Alya’s families (who were friends through their daughters) at a shared beach house in the south.

                As the celebrations carried on, with a lunch provided, and a merry time had by all, Marinette had an opportunity to think. She, as Ladybug, had met with Chat Noir the night before, when she had confessed she’d be leaving the country, only for him to respond that he was going to the same place. She dearly, desperately hoped that he hadn’t been making it up on the spot, just so he could follow her. It would be too crushing for him to follow her halfway across the world when his romantic love was so one-sided. But then again, his reaction to the knowledge that, of all the places in the world, they were going to the same city, was too much to have been faked. Marinette sighed and leaned against a wall, sipping her drink. She’d really thought she’d have to find some ambulance or something, but thankfully he’d snapped out of it pretty quick. Maybe Chat Noir and Ladybug were destined to just… be together. Not romantically, per se, but just around each other. She had talked to Tikki about what happens next, since their main villain was defeated, but Tikki didn’t seem to have an answer, other than she felt that she would stick around for a while yet. Marinette raised her hand to finger a currently-silver earring. It had been proven that even under no threat of attack, her small magical friend could zoom into them, and transform her into the masked superhero by the name of Ladybug.

                “Marinette, did you know that!?” Alya asked enthusiastically.

                “Huh?” said Marinette. When did Alya even get over here?

                “Nino’s got a gig!” Alya said, rocking the man in question around by his shoulders. He had a bashful expression and was gently protesting the roughhousing.

                “Woah, really? Where, Nino?” Marinette smiled.

                “Well, it’s at the 300 Club downtown,” said Nino, trying to hide his enormous grin. “I’ve got a regular booking as house DJ, for decent pay, too.”

                “Woah, that’s incredible, Nino!” said another voice coming up beside Marinette. She turned to see the now-even-taller figure of Adrien Agreste walking over to pat his friend on the back. Even though Marinette had long gotten over her crush on him, his gorgeous smile was still disarming enough to cause a heart to flutter. “So you’re staying in the city?”

                “Thanks, bro. Yeah, I’m gonna live with the ‘rents for a little bit so I can get my footing, then I’ll move out to somewhere dirt cheap!” the two boys laughed. Marinette laughed along, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear, before her attention was caught by another classmate who was trying to talk to her about how they’ll have to keep in touch when they’re both famous. She waved off her previous group to socially flit about, as one does. It was so weird to have seen so many of these kids grow all the way up, even if there were some that moved away, and some that transferred in. Some people changed a lot, but some…

                “Ugh! You call this catering?” a shrill voice called across the room. Marinette exhaled, gritting her teeth. Fortunately, it wasn’t Alya’s mom doing food (this time), but Marinette still chafed at the fact that somebody was getting chewed out for no good reason at all. A hand fell on Marinette’s shoulder.

                “Don’t pay attention to her. It’ll all get sorted out,” said the quiet voice of Nathanaël.

                “Nat!” said Marinette, giving him a hug. “Thanks, but she’s just still so… UGH.”

                “I know,” he said sympathetically. Suddenly he cheered up. “Hey, congrats on getting into that American school!”

                “Thanks! And you too! I saw your post, but I already forgot; where are you going, again?”

                “Gobelins,” answered Nathanaël, grinning. Marinette gasped and made a big show of being proud and excited for him, which he totally deserved. The two artists had gotten to be quite good friends over the past few years; their akuma incident from way back when totally forgotten. “I don’t quite know yet what I’m going to study, but I’m sure I’ll find something or another.”

                “I’m so excited to see what you come up with, Nat,” said Marinette earnestly, as she was beckoned away by Alya and her family, who were already heading out the door. She grasped Nat’s hand. “Let’s keep in touch.”

                “Yeah!” he said, beaming back at her. He waved at her back as she dashed off, meeting her group. As she made her way out the doors of the school, for likely the very last time, Marinette turned to look at the festivities within, as people still gathered to celebrate and congratulate; even a few were still waving goodbye at her. She took it all in with a breath, then closed her eyes and turned around to follow her mother and father into the dusk, towards her childhood home. She wouldn’t be staying there much longer either; it was a time of leaving.


	3. Welcome to the Big Apple

Chapter 3:

                “— _The local time is 3:15 PM_ —”

                “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”

                “— _Thank you for flying Transcontinental Airline_ —”

                “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”

                “— _And have a wonderful visit to New York!_ ”

                “Oh my GOD!” Adrien practically shrieked as the plane stuttered to a halt.

                “Oh my god, if you say ‘oh my god’ one more time, Adrien, I swear to god,” muttered Plagg menacingly from Adrien’s hoodie pocket. Adrien bounced his leg up and down, staring intently at the seatbelt sign. For all his “oh my god”-ing, he wasn’t a first time flyer by any means—he’d been on transcontinental flights since he was a baby—but he was so overwhelmed with the anticipation of seeing his mother again that he could barely contain himself. The man sitting next to him huffed and shifted. His eyes were closed. Adrien was worried he was still asleep, and that he should wake him up so he wouldn’t miss any timing, but thought better of it. He’d been an awful person to sit next to for the whole nine hour flight. He was jittery the whole time, and didn’t sleep a wink—every time a stewardess came by, he asked for another coffee (which was a dumb idea in the first place). And though he was no stranger to planes, it was his first time flying economy; he had to buy the ticket himself. His mother, with whom he’d been in heavy correspondence, primarily via email to not rack up overseas charges, offered to help with travel expenses, but Adrien wouldn’t hear of it. Even though he was no longer supported by his father, he still easily had more money than his artist mother. Even so, he still went with the cheapest option of economy class in the middle aisle—this money would have to really have to stretch thin. American uni is expensive…

                Ding!

                Adrien furiously unbuckled and jumped up to take down his bag from the overhead compartment and picked up his backpack from the floor underneath the seat in front of him. Despite his quickness to stand, he was pretty far in the back (save money, save money, save money…) and the pilot hadn’t even opened the door of the plane yet, so there was still a while to wait. Adrien tapped his foot impatiently. A snooty woman in front of him turned around, and even though she was much shorter than him, it was still as if she were looking down her nose at him.

                “You will get off this plane when the rest of us do, young man!” she huffed in English. Adrien attempted to stammer out an excuse, but the woman turned back around. Plagg snickered as Adrien pulled his hood over his head.

                “Shut up, Plagg,” Adrien moped.

                “None of your Frenchy model charms will work on these people, Adey! They’re New Yorkers.”

                “Has there ever been an American Chat Noir, Plagg?”

                “Oh yeah.”

                “Was he a New Yorker?”

                “Confidential.”

                “Oh,” said Adrien. The line still hadn’t moved. “What did they call him? Not Chat Noir.”

                “Black Cat, of course,” said Plagg, suddenly jolted in his pocket. “Hey, what gives!?”

                “I’m gonna see her, Plagg,” whispered Adrien, shuffling forward in the crowd. His knuckles on the hand clenched on his bag were turning white. Plagg didn’t respond. Adrien only had two pictures of his mother: one of him and her, not long before she left; and one where she holds a tiny swaddled baby. They and their gilded frames were some of the few items that made it through the selection process of packing for New York. He only had his backpack, his small duffel bag, and his checked bag, which weighed 49.8 pounds (just under 50 to escape the extra fee). Packing was hard when he had to figure out how heavy things would be, and what he could afford to buy when he got to America. One thing working in his favor was the superior weight of the Euro to the American dollar. Even though he’d studied economics, it was mostly on a large scale, and trying to manage solely himself and his possessions was a lot harder that he would have liked. But it was worth it. He reached the exit of the plane.

                “Have a wonderful stay! _Bonne visite_!” the pilot and the stewardesses said as the mix of French and American passengers disembarked. Despite her earlier annoyance, Adrien stayed right on the heels of the New York woman as they walked up the runway to… _Customs_. Adrien went a bit pale, but resolved himself. He could do this. He navigated customs like a pro, for someone who had always been ushered to and fro in the clutches of airport security. After another 50 minutes of annoyances, the last officer pointed Adrien towards a set of double doors. He stepped through them to a sea of people with flowers, all craning to see if their loved one was the one to come out. Once the crowd caught sight of the lanky French boy, they all slumped and looked around him, but one figure remained standing tall.

                “Ma—”

                “Right this way, young man, you can meet your family outside of this gate,” said an American security staff, guiding Adrien down a pathway, which remained lined with waiting people. Over their heads he caught glimpses of the figure, moving down the hall parallel to him. Finally, he reached the end of the bars holding the crowd back, and was instantly met with the sight of his mother, holding an enormous bouquet.

                It was almost like looking into a mirror. Her face was so similar to his, with the same eyes and nose; yet her face was older and wizened, with shoulder-length brown hair framing her face.

                “Adrien,” she choked out, and he ran to her open arms, dropped his bag by her side and fell into her embrace. She was so small. Her hands fluttered over his now broader shoulders, petting the back of his head. “You—you’ve grown up so much.”

                “Mama,” he whispered, burrowing his face into her shoulder. He felt kind of weird, calling her that, but that’s what he called her around the time she left, and he couldn’t think of anything else to call her. Julia McCarthy was born and raised in small-town Ohio, went to Chicago to study art and photography, met up-and-coming Gabriel Agreste (a number of years her senior) at a photoshoot, and the rest is history. Julia’s American roots had regrown after being back in her home country for so long. The French she spoke was broken and halting. Adrien lifted his face. “We can speak in English, it is okay.”

                “Oh,” she laughed, pulling back to wipe at the tears falling down her son’s face. They weren’t stopping, and neither were her’s, but she didn’t stop her ministrations, which Adrien was grateful for. “You’re probably better at English than I ever was at French. I don’t think I ever quite got the hang of it.”

                “I am certain you were once very good,” said Adrien. His mother laughed. Each time she did, more and more tears formed in Adrien’s eyes, and his smile got wider and wider.

                “Oh my baby,” Julia whispered, cupping his face. They tightly embraced once again before pulling apart, both laughing and sniffling. “Well. Shall we go get your checked bags?”

                “I only have one,” said Adrien, picking up his duffel. He still carried his backpack.

                “Only one?” his mother seemed surprised.

                “Yes. I want to save money on the airplane. I can buy new things here,” Adrien said, following his mother through the packed terminal. People were chattering in all languages all around them.

                “Oh Adrien,” she chided, weaving through the crowd. Her son struggled to keep up with her tiny form, which seemed to glide effortlessly through the sea of people, whereas he seemed to bump into every obstacle within five feet of his intended path. Paris certainly was not like this. “I told you I would pay for your flight.”

                “It is okay, Mama,” Adrien said, cheerfully. He’d known all along that it would be worth it, and it was. He’d seen her for all of five minutes now, but he already knew that he’d made the right decision to escape the clutches of his father and come to this warm soul he had missed so dearly all these years.

 

                “I’m used to living alone, so there’s only the one bedroom, but the sofa pulls out. I’d be perfectly happy to put you in the bed—”

                “I will be happy to sleep on the sofa, Mama.”

                “I’ll make sure to put extra padding so it doesn’t hurt your back,” Julia said, fiddling with her keys before opening the door. She tittered something about not knowing why she seemed to have so many, but Adrien was lost in the beauty of her apartment. It was a simple one-bedroom, all very tidy, with potted plants everywhere. The drapes hung in front of the windows were multicolored and translucent, casting a colorful glow on the interior. A meow came behind a cracked door.

                “You have a kitty?!” Adrien exclaimed. He set down his bags, which he’d insisted he carry the whole way without letting his mother help. A white paw reached out from the room to open the door, which swung open to reveal a bedroom which was double-utilized as an artist’s studio. A shorthaired tuxedo cat strutted out into the open, meowing loudly. Adrien had absolute stars in his eyes.

                “I do. This is Max, but where—” Another loud meow interrupted her as a longhaired calico cat followed Max from the bedroom/studio. “Ah. There’s Sophia.”

                “They are beautiful,” said Adrien, crouching down to offer his hand to the cats to smell. Max seemed ambivalent, but Sophia rubbed on his fingers right away. Adrien quickly stood up. “And—and your home is so beautiful as well! It is wonderful. I—I don’t have the words.”

                “Thank you, sweetheart,” Julia said, plucking Sophia from the ground to deposit her in Adrien’s arms. She immediately began to purr. “You must be tired! Or hungry? Tell me what you need.”

                “I would love to eat,” admitted Adrien, stroking the kitty in his arms. Julia went behind the counter of the kitchen space, which was integrated with the living room. Adrien went to look out the window. It admittedly wasn’t much of a view, but the streets of New York were so fascinating that it didn’t even matter.

                “Do you still like my peanut butter-honey sandwiches?” his mother asked. Adrien whirled around.

                “I have forgotten about peanut butter-honey sandwiches!” he said so loudly it startled Sophia, and she jumped down. He had honest to god forgotten about peanut butter-honey sandwiches. The American-style sandwich was his favorite thing to eat throughout his entire childhood. In his later years, his diet was pretty heavily regulated so he got enough nutrients and caloric intake for each day, but he couldn’t pick what he wanted to eat. Oh my god, he could eat whatever he wanted. His mother chuckled.

                “Well, now you remember. Want one?” Julia laughed again as her son nodded his head furiously. Adrien exhaled and went back to the window. He could just see the skyline over the buildings across the street. He smiled as he watched the sun set over the city that never sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen... pb and honey sandwiches are good... that's all i have to say


	4. Move-In Day Part One

                “Tikki, you said Greenwich Hall, right?” Marinette whispered to the kwami in her side purse. She dragged an enormous suitcase behind her, and bowed under the weight of her backpack.

                “Yup. I’m pretty sure this is it, Marinette. Why don’t you ask someone?” the Tikki answered helpfully. Marinette’s blood ran cold. She was really bad at English. Well, like she could communicate, but she had so much trouble with stuff like grammar, and she knew she didn’t have the vocab she really needed to articulate her thoughts. The best she could do sometimes was say a French word in an American accent and hope it was the same (it wasn’t). But she seriously needed to figure out where she was and what she was doing. She walked up to a girl in a violet NYU shirt.

                “Excuse me,” Marinette said nervously. The girl looked her way. “Is this Greenwich Hall?”

                “It’s pronounced Gren-itch,” said the girl laughing. Marinette was about to cry. “Do you happen to be Marinette?”

                “Yes,” answered Marinette, confused. The girl held out her hand to shake.

                “My name’s Gracie, I’m your RA!” she chirped.

                “How do you know who I was?”

                “Well, you’re the only international student I have on my floor, and I hoped it’d be a lucky guess!” Gracie was tapped on the shoulder by a boy in another NYU shirt, and as Gracie turned around to talk to him, Marinette noticed the word “STAFF” in bold on the back. That made sense. Gracie shooed off her coworker and turned back to Marinette. “So Marinette, I’m guessing you don’t have any help to move in. I’ve only got a couple girls right now, and they’re all moved in, so I’ll help get you all sorted out!”

                “Okay!” said Marinette. Gracie brazenly took her enormous suitcase and lugged it inside. She scurried after the American girl, very nervous at first, but as they waited for the elevator, they made casual conversation. Gracie was obviously making an effort not to speak too quickly, and to clearly enunciate. Marinette was incredibly grateful. After a very short amount of time, she even felt comfortable asking Gracie what certain words meant, and asking her to correct her grammar. Gracie was super enthusiastic. She was a junior in graphic design, and had taken French in high school and had mostly forgotten it, so she hoped she and Marinette could swap language lessons. The two girls continued to chat as they set up Marinette’s bedroom—her randomly-assigned roommate had not yet arrived. Gracie gave her the rundown on various rules and regulations, also giving her a couple handbooks about the dorm and the school and various Welcome Week activities. She ensured Marinette that she’d be around to answer any questions she had, about literally anything, before dashing off to greet other new students. Marinette looked around her dorm room. She’d randomly picked the bed on the right, but she guessed that’s where she’d be staying for the whole year. As she went about putting things in their new proper places, she wondered what her roommate would be like. Wh—

                “Helloooooo,” called a voice from the living area. Marinette whipped around.

                “Ah, hello!” she called back. “I am on the bedroom.”

                “What kinda accent is that?” said a tiny girl with enormous hair. Marinette had always felt that she was on the short side, but this girl was downright teensy. The girl tilted her head, waiting for an answer to her question.

                “Oh! I am Marinette, from France,” she said.

                “France? You don’t look French,” said the girl. Marinette self-consciously touched the end of her hair. Was this her roommate? She was kind of… rude.

                “What is your name?” she asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

                “I’m Kasey,” the girl said, and tossed her bag on the bed. A young man followed her into the room, carrying a couple suitcases.

                “I am Marinette,” she said to the man, who looked at her with a kind of blank stare.

                “Hey,” he said, turning back to Kasey to help her unload. Marinette was kind of flustered. Kasey sucked her teeth.

                “This is my boyfriend, Markus,” she said in explanation before turning her back on her new roommate again. Obviously she didn’t wanna talk. Marinette went back to sorting out her new space. Kasey and… well, _Kasey_ talked, mostly chewing Markus out for something or another. Marinette couldn’t really follow. She gathered her bravery again.

                “Where are you from, Kasey?” she asked. Kasey looked over her shoulder at the nervous French girl on the other side of the room.

                “Jersey City,” she replied brusquely.

                “Wh-where is this?” Marinette stuttered. Kasey laughed meanly.

                “New. _Jer-say_ ,” she said with an accent, making fun of Marinette.

                “Hey,” said Markus. It was the first thing Marinette had heard him say; his voice was rather deep. Kasey glared at him.

                “Now what’re you doin’, huh?” Kasey hollered at him. She stomped out of the room. Markus looked at Marinette before he followed her out.

                “Th—” Marinette began, but he had already gone and closed the door behind him. She was alone in the bedroom. She heard some muffled yelling and stomping, which gradually faded. She peeked out of the room to the empty living room. She wandered out into the bare space. There was also a window in the living room, as they lived on the corner of the third floor. There was a worn sofa and a couple plastic chairs scatted around a small plastic table. The kitchen just took up a side of the living room, and consisted of a fridge, a stovetop oven, a few cabinets, and a small bit of counter space. Marinette was on a meal plan, but cooking was important to her, so she planned on using the tiny kitchen at least a little bit. She was very concerned about her new roommate, who seemed to be very hostile. It would suck if she was stuck with a shitty roommate for her whole first year abroad. Marinette went to the living room window; it looked out onto the alley with dumpsters and garbage strewn about. Marinette went into the bedroom, picking her phone up from her desk, which was next to the window there. This one looked out over the street, and she could see cars and busses pass by. It was fortunate she’d gotten there first—windows are pretty important. She was already missing her homey skylight and balcony.

                Marinette distractedly looked at her phone, opening skype. She had a handful of ongoing conversations, keeping her parents and Alya updated on her situation as well as keeping tabs on what Alya’s up to. Alya had sent a selfie of her making faces with her new roommate. Marinette sighed. At least _they_ seemed to be getting along. Plus Alya was _way_ better at English. She just seemed to have a knack for it; she was top of that class in that subject, along with Adrien and Alix. Marinette typed in some updates to her parents and best friend. It was so weird—Alya was five hours ahead of her, and back home was six. It was already nighttime on that side of the world. Marinette still had a whole day (likely of hassle) ahead of her.

                _Ding! Ding! Ding!_

                “ _A very warm welcome to all our new residents! To all you oldies, welcome back! Everyone please keep in mind that this is NYU’s Welcome Week. There’s plenty of activities for new students and old. Your RA should have given you a couple pamphlets—those will tell you what we’ve got going on. We’re friendly folk here in Greenwich Hall, and we want to make sure you have a good safe time here. If you need any more assistance, you can ask your RA or go to the help desk on the first floor. Peace!_ ” The monitor crackled as the chipper announcer turned off the mike. It was pretty disarming that there were speakers in their bedrooms, but Marinette supposed it was just something to get used to. The crackle started up again. “ _Oh yeah, we’re also gonna have a fire drill. Please plan to be around from 6:00 to 6:30. We’ll do a safety briefing then, too._ ”

                Marinette inhaled. Well, she was gonna make the most of this “Welcome Week” if she had to. It actually seemed kinda nice—it started a week before classes so freshmen could settle in. She opened up one of the handouts Gracie had given her to see a host of activities available. Her eyes fell on a panel called “International Intentions” which seemed to be quasi-mandatory for international students to attend. The pamphlet advertised that the meeting would help explain how everything would work for international and exchange students, and explanations would be provided in over 30 languages. Marinette gave a sigh of relief—the English language was kicking her ass. She grabbed her wallet and stuck it and her phone into her purse with Tikki and an airport cookie as she walked out the door, locking it behind her. The meeting was at three, so she had thirty minutes to get there. She’d been on a plane for nine out of the past ten hours, she was tired as fuck, but she was gonna hear some people speak some fucking French if it killed her.


	5. Move-In Day Part Two

                “Thank you for helping me move, Mama,” said Adrien. Julia smiled, readjusting Adrien’s bag on her shoulder.

                “It’s no problem at all, baby. Hey does that look like an RA?” she pointed at a tired-looking girl in a purple t-shirt. The girl caught their eye and tried to cheer up a little, waving them over.

                “Hi, and welcome to Greenwich Hall. My name’s Jacklyn and I’m RA for the fourth floor,” she said, shaking Adrien’s hand. He smiled at her, which seemed to slightly disarm her. It seemed that Plagg was wrong about Americans not being affected by his “Frenchy model charms.”

                “My name is Adrien,” he said. Jacklyn was still shaking his hand but stopped as she shook herself out of it.

                “Uh, are you Adrien Agreste?” she asked.

                “Yes.”

                “Oh! Well. You’re on my floor,” Jacklyn said. She turned towards Julia. “Are you Mom?”

                “Yup!” Julia said, grinning as she shook the girl’s hand. Adrien felt all warm inside from just hearing her introduce herself as his mom.

                “Okay folks, let’s get you inside, huh?” Jacklyn ushered them into the dorm and into the elevator, explaining basic rules, and giving both Adrien and Julia copies of various pamphlets. “We’ve got a number of international students on the fourth floor. Actually, I think you’re rooming with one. Yeah, cuz you’re in 403. Your roommate’s already here. His name’s Joe and he’s from Madagascar I think.”

                “Madagascar? What do they speak there?” asked Julia. Jacklyn thought for a moment but didn’t seem to know the answer.

                “I can’t really place his accent,” she admitted. They walked out of the elevator and up to a room, which Jacklyn unlocked. “Well, here you are. Here’s your key. I live right down the hall if you ever need me. I can answer questions, etcetera.”

                “Thank you, Jacklyn,” said Adrien with a smile.

                “You can, uh, call me Jackie,” she stammered before dashing off. Julia giggled.

                “Right casa nova I got myself here, huh?” she said, slinging an arm around her son, tussling his hair. Adrien laughed.

                “Hey, have I got a roommate?” a voice called from inside. Julia released Adrien and he pushed open the ajar door to reveal a shapely young man standing a living room. “Hey!”

                “Hey!” Adrien said. His roommate went up to his giving him one of those combo handshake/hugs that he’d never really gotten the grasp of, and clapped him on the shoulder. He was kinda touchy, but seemed so open and inviting that it just felt nice.

                “My name is Joseph, but please call me Joe,” he said with a full smile.

                “I am Adrien.” Joe’s personable nature seemed to be contagious, as Adrien was beaming away.

                “Hi Mom!” said Joe, looking around Adrien at Julia. She smiled and waved.

                “I’m Julia.”

                “Pleasure. Oopsie daisy, do not let me get in your way. The bedroom is over there,” Joe said, pointing to an open door. Going into it, Adrien set his suitcase down by the empty bed and placed his backpack on the desk. Joe already had almost all his stuff set up, with a wide range of posters from Mozart to the Grateful Dead. Julia set his shoulder bag on the bed.

                “This looks pretty cool, sweetheart!” said Julia, looking out the window. “Nice, you got a street view.”

                “Sorry I scored the window seat, buddy!” said Joe amiably. Adrien waved him off to indicate he didn’t mind. “Hey man, I was wondering… Where are you from? You do not sound American.”

                “France,” Adrien answered. Joe gave an abrupt bark of a laugh.

                “We share a mother tongue!” Joe said in an odd dialect of French.

                “I guess so, huh?” Adrien responded in French.

                “You boys seem to be hitting it off,” commented Julia in English.

                “Absolutely, ma’am!” said Joe in English, slinging an arm around Adrien, who’d broken out into giggles. Joe was quite the character. Then he, like Julia, released Adrien, who began unpacking.

                “You seem to have a pretty firm grasp on English, Joe,” said Julia, slightly aiding her son.

                “Yes, ma’am. I have studied it ever since I began school.”

                “The RA said you were from Madagascar.”

                “Indeed I am.” Joe switched to French. “Hey Adey, have you lived your whole life in the fatherland?”

                “Oh yeah,” Adrien answered in French. “Born and raised and everything. But I have been living with my mother for the past month here in New York.”

                _Beep beep! Beep beep!_

                “Oh, Adrien I have to run to an appointment. Will you be okay here?” Julia said, silencing an alarm on her phone. Her son jumped up and walked with her to the door of the apartment-style dorm room.

                “Okay, Mama. But we can still visit on weekends?” he said hopefully. Julia turned to place her hands around his face.

                “My baby, we can visit any time, and you can _call_ any time you want. But I do want you to focus on your studies, and focus on making friends, not just on me. You’ve got me for the rest of your life, but college is so short. I want you to make the most of it, okay?” Adrien nodded, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Julia laughed as she brushed them away, gathering her son into a hug. “But you still have to keep me updated! I want to know everything.”

                “I will, Mama,” answered Adrien. He kissed her on the cheek and she walked away down the hall. He scrubbed at his face before turning around. Joe had been watching unobtrusively, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom.

                “You’re so kind to your mother,” he commented in his odd dialect.

                “We’ve been separated for a long time,” Adrien said. He walked past Joe into the bedroom to continue setting up his space. Joe flopped down on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

                _Ding! Ding! Ding!_

                “ _A very warm welcome to all our new residents! To all you oldies, welcome back! Everyone please keep in mind that this is NYU’s Welcome Week. There’s plenty of activities for new students and old. Your RA should have given you a couple pamphlets—those will tell you what we’ve got going on. We’re friendly folk here in Greenwich Hall, and we want to make sure you have a good safe time here. If you need any more assistance, you can ask your RA or go to the help desk on the first floor. Peace!_ ” Adrien and Joe pointlessly looked up during the announcement, even though there was nothing to see.

                “Hey Adey, have you looked at all the shit they have for us to do?”

                “No, I haven’t had much time since getting those handouts.”

                “Well there’s a—”

                “ _Oh yeah, we’re also gonna have a fire drill. Please plan to be around from 6:00 to 6:30. We’ll do a safety briefing then, too._ ” Joe waited until the crackling was gone, giving the ceiling a stink-eye, making Adrien laugh.

                “There’s a—” Joe paused, as if the speaker would interrupt him again. Adrien was quietly in stitches. He cleared his throat before speaking. “There’s an international student thing we should go to. It’s what, at three? Check me.”

                “Yup. Three,” said Adrien, looking at his pamphlet. It did seem pretty important. “Hey they’re doing it in multiple languages.”

                “Yesssss,” hissed Joe. He snuggled down further into his bed. “We can head out together once you get to a stopping point.”

                “Sure,” said Adrien. He finished making his bed up; his mom and he had gone shopping for dorm room stuff, including an extra-long twin size sheet set. He straightened up, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I think I’m set for now.”

                “Cooleo!” said Joe, hopping up from his bed and stuffing his phone and wallet in his pocket. Adrien hurriedly put his phone, wallet, and Plagg into his now-empty shoulder bag. Plagg submitted to the manhandling with uncharacteristic good nature—Julia had unwittingly supplied him with some funky cheese her neighbor made. Adrien followed his roommate away, hoping that Plagg hadn’t gotten too used to the fresh local cheese. He was gonna have to deal with dining hall cheese from here on out. Adrien had no idea how to feed himself, so he’d bought the biggest mealplan available. If it was too much, then so be it, but he couldn’t risk hitting exam week and have run out of food options. As the two boys walked through the dorm and went outside to wait for the free student bus, they made casual conversation to get to know each other. Joe was incredibly easy to talk to—no surprise there—and it was so comfortable to speak with someone in French, even if he talked differently, and the random NYU students around them looked funnily at the two boys chattering in a foreign language.

                “So Joe, how did you choose NYU?” Adrien asked as they boarded the first bus heading in the right direction. His roommate shrugged.

                “If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere?” They both laughed. “How about yourself?”

                “Oh, well my mom lives in the village, and I wanted to be near her.”

                “How were you separated? If you don’t mind me asking,” said Joe. “If that’s too personal, I totally understand. I’m kinda nosey.”

                “No, it’s okay,” said Adrien. He could probably stand to get this off his chest anyway. “Well, my father is the biggest dick to walk the planet, and when my mother left him, he got custody and banned her from seeing me; because she was coming here to be an artist, she couldn’t support both of us.”

                “Wow,” Joe whistled through his teeth. “I know the type. My father too, is an absolute dick, and walked out on my mother when I was rather young. But it’s okay, because my step father is a good and kind man.”

                “Ah. That’s good,” said Adrien. Joe nodded solemnly.

                “Hey, where’d you live in the fatherland? Countryside? Paris?” Joe said suddenly, lightening the mood.

                “Paris,” Adrien grinned. Joe swooned in his seat, throwing an arm over his forehead.

                “Ah! The city of love,” he sighed.

                “I miss it,” Adrien admitted.

                “Well, it’s good though, that you’ve come to another big city—it would have been weird to move to some tiny little college town.”

                “Yeah. That’s pretty much what my father was intending for me. Some private academy. So I’m actually paying my own tuition to come here.”

                “Shit son! Really? Did you get any scholarships or anything?”

                “Um yeah, a little bit for academics, but like, my dad’s super rich so I didn’t get any need-based aid.”

                “What the fuck, man. That’s messed up. I’m on so many rides I can’t even count ‘em.” Joe remained leaning back in his seat, but looked attentively toward Adrien. “How are you paying your way?”

                “I actually model, and I had some money saved up…”

                “Dude,” said Joe. “You’re a model?”

                “Yeah, my dad owns this big fashion company,” Adrien said, scrunching up his face. “I’ve been modeling for it since forever.”

                “Woah,” said Joe. “Dude.”

                “Yeah, well I mean it turned out to be a good gig, cuz I was able to arrange a modeling job here, so I’ll be able to take care of myself,” Adrien said, and the bus pulled to a stop. The two boys stood up and stepped off the bus into a crowd of eighteen year olds from every corner of the world.


	6. "International Intentions"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! sorry for not updating in a while-winter break, family, etc etc. pls enjoy~

                “Woah,” exclaimed Tikki. “There sure are a lot of kids here!”

                “Well, we’re not technically kids, Tikki,” said Marinette, weaving her way through the crowd, towards, hopefully, what would be the auditorium where they were to gather.

                “I am so old, Marinette. You are all kids,” said Tikki, deadpan. Laughing, Marinette patted the kwami on the head, before walking headlong into someone else. She would have toppled over, but the victim reached out to catch her before she did.

                “Hey now, miss!” said the person in oddly accented English.

                “Ah! I am so sorry,” she apologized, righting herself and looking up at a tall young black man. Even though he was fairly slim, he didn’t seem swayed by Marinette’s clumsiness, as he gave her a beaming smile. “I uh, am not looking where I go.”

                “It is no problem. Say, you are here for the international student thing, yes?” the young man said, as Marinette nodded. “Figured. Now, your accent is very familiar to me, somehow. Where are you from?”

                “Paris, France,” Marinette said, and the young man gave a startling bark of a laugh.

                “No fucking way!” he exclaimed in a weird dialect of French. “That’s where my new roommate is from!”

                “Woah, really?” said Marinette, switching to her native tongue. Ah, French was so much more comfortable. She was right to have come to this thing. “I mean, it’s a big city and all, I probably don’t know him…”

                “I feel like he might be kinda famous…” mused the young man. “Oh, I’m Joe, short for Joseph.”

                “My name’s Marinette,” she said, and they shook hands. Joe was a bit… much, but he was terribly friendly, and somehow homey, too. Joe beamed at her again before looking around the crowd.

                “You know, we came here together, but he’s gone off somewhere. Bathroom?” said Joe, shrugging. Marinette supposed he was referring to his roommate. “But let’s go inside, eh? Score some good seats—ie, not at the front!”

                “Sure,” Marinette said, laughing. She and Joe chatted as they went inside and took their seats in some shoddy folding chairs. Every so often, Joe would peer around looking for his roommate, and he’d also sporadically introduce himself to people who all had the same disarmed reaction. Marinette would laugh sheepishly every time another person fell under Joe’s tirade of greeting—it was as if she was the veteran, already inducted into the ranks of Joe’s friendship. His extroverted behavior was exhausting, but kinda nice too, somehow. Almost like being with Alya. Marinette felt her cheeks slightly ache with the effort of smiling so much. This was definitely trending towards her highest point in a long while. Joe didn’t manage to find any other French-speakers from his seat, so he and Marinette continued to get to know each other.

                “What made you come to NYU?” Joe asked.

                “Well, I want to study fashion,” said Marinette. Joe gasped and scooted closer, propping his head on his hands, miming her to go on. “And I wanted to leave Paris. I thought New York would be the best place in the world for me to study! I was also considering Hong Kong as well… But I couldn’t find a school I really loved, and NYU gave me a pretty okay ride, so here I am!”

                “Damn girl! That’s so cool. You’re gonna have a great time here, I just know it.”

                “Wait, why are you here? I mean, like, why’d you choose to leave Madagascar to come to New York?”

                “Girl, have you ever _been_ to Madagascar?” Without waiting for an answer, Joe continued. “I had nothing to do. Ever. My father—well, he’s technically my step-father, but I call him Dad—is a doctor for American organizations that send medicine to help poor people, and a long time ago he met Mom, and the rest is history. We lived way far outside the city, and all people did was farm. It sucked! I had no future there. But because Mom married Dad, he’s paying for me to come here to school. There’s some insider gig he got cuz he’s an American citizen, so it was easier for me to come. Eh, there’s some iffy shit, you know.”

                “Uh,” said Marinette, speechless. What a life story! She realized she was staring with her mouth open, so she shook her head. “I mean, wow! And so you decided to come here.”

                “Yup! I’ve always known city life is for me,” Joe sighed happily. “I love the hustle and bustle and the noise. Oh yeah, wait, why did you wanna go to Hong Kong?”

                “Um,” Marinette squirmed.

                “Are you Chinese or something? You look kinda Asian.”

                “Uh, yeah. My mom’s Chinese. Her whole family lives in China, and I’ve been kinda learning Chinese for forever, so.”

                “Dude! Are you telling me you’re trilingual?”

                “Well, I suck at both Chinese and English… I mean, I can get along, but it’s iffy. At best.”

                “Whew,” Joe whistled. “Gnarly, girl!”

                “ _Ahem_ ,” came a voice through the microphone. The huge hall full of kids chattering in way more than thirty languages quieted down. “ _Now students, I’m going to start with the full speech in English, then we’ll break up into the different groups for language-specific details. Welcome to NYU!”_

`               “He sounds so whiney. Like his nose is a whistle,” whispered Joe in Marinette’s ear. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggle. The whole time the man spoke, Joe mocked him, and Marinette often enough returned with quips of her own; humor to rival even her own partner in crime-fighting. Suddenly Marinette’s blood ran cold.

                _What about Chat?_

                He was in New York City. Well, he might not be there _yet_ , but he was gonna be. Or, well, he probably was already there. They were the same age, they were both incoming international freshmen, it’d make sense that they’d be there at the same time. Marinette’s tummy gave a flip-flop. Chat used to come to the bakery roof to visit Marinette occasionally. She’d worried that he may have had a crush on her secret identity as well as her alter ego, but she’d put a stop to his visits eventually. She still never felt anything for him but comradery, but right now, such a close friend as that seemed really, really nice. Marinette was staring at her hands contemplating when Joe touched her shoulder.

                “Hey, we gotta go to the French meetup part,” he said. “Hey! We’re sure to run into my roomie there!”

                “Yeah!” Marinette smiled and nodded, and the two new friends made their way over to a woman beckoning people in French.

                “Joe!” called a voice. Marinette searched for its source. It seemed _very_ familiar. _Too_ familiar.

                “Adrien! We’re over here!” Joe called. Marinette’s heart stopped. But surely, a coincidence—

                “M-Marin-ette?” said that god-awfully familiar voice. Marinette slowly turned on her heel to face the radiantly beautiful visage of Adrien Agreste, Wonderboy Extraordinaire, ex-crush, and once-ex-classmate-but-now-I-guess-not.

                “Hi Adrien,” she exhaled. Joe was flashing his eyes back and forth between their faces.

                “Fucking don’t tell me you actually know each other.”

                “We went to school together for years,” said Adrien, not looking away from Marinette.

                “Holy SHIT!” Joe hollered, jumping on Adrien, finally breaking the eye contact between the old acquaintances. Marinette crumbled. Yeah, that’s all they ever were. They never even breached the line of being kind-of-friends. Nope. Just classmates. And now they were again, evidentially.

                “Boys,” said the woman sternly. Joe climbed off his roommate and the three stood shoulder to shoulder to face the woman, who began to talk. Marinette was next to Adrien. She stood stock-still and barely breathed. Hadn’t she gotten over him ages ago? Maybe it was just because they had less time together in close proximity. They’d simply grown apart in their schooling in the past couple years. But now they were squeezed up real tight, real close, and would probably be shoved into at least one of the same gen-eds together. A shiver went down Marinette’s spine. In class, together again, with Adrien Agreste. What the fuck was he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be in some kinda tiny specialized modeling school for schmancy beautiful wonderboys? Yet here he was and there he wasn’t. She took a deep breath in.

                “Adrien,” she whispered. He leaned over discreetly. Stifling her shivers, Marinette continued. “You’re going to NYU?”

                “Yeah,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you were coming here too. You’re studying fashion, right? What a perfect fit for you!”  
                “Thanks.” Marinette blushed, baffled he even remembered her interests. “Er, what are you studying?”

                “I—” Adrien began before straightening up, to evade the suspicious gaze of the woman giving the talk. He gave her a reassuring smile. Nobody with such a beautiful smile as his could ever be whispering during her talk. She continued and Adrien bent over again to finish his sentence. “I’m here studying physics.”

                “Really?” whispered Marinette. She was surprised he wasn’t studying modeling or even fashion. She was even more surprised that she was able to hold up this conversation without stuttering. _Ha ha_ , take that, crush! The one that doesn’t exist anymore! “Not modeling? Why physics?”

                “It’s my favorite subject. I actually don’t really like modeling,” he admitted under his breath. Marinette was taken aback. “I’m actually going way against my father’s wishes to come here to study physics. I don’t even know if that’s what I wanna do for real for real, but anything’s good so long as I’m getting away from my father. Oh yeah, plus my mom lives here! In the Village!”

                “Your mom?” Marinette whispered. Although she and Adrien had never been tight, they (evidentially) knew the basics about each other. “That’s where she’s been?”

                “Yeah,” he exhaled. “I’ve actually been living with her here since graduation. It’s been really great.”

                “Oh wow,” Marinette replied. “I uh, I’m really glad you were able to reconnect.”

                “Thanks,” said Adrien, as the woman finished up her talk and dismissed the students to the other various Welcome Week activities going on at about this time, at various locations.

                “Hey man, you wanna grab some food? The ‘cross-cultural campus’ thing has some free shit,” Joe said, slinging a casual arm around Adrien’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be all foreign and freaky, but you up for it?”

                “Um, sure man!” replied Adrien. The two boys swiveled around to walk off. Marinette swayed on her feet. She’d probably just go back to her room. Or something. Joe looked over his shoulder at her with a confused look on his face.

                “Mari, you coming?” he said quizzically. Adrien looked back as well.

                “Oh, is that cool?” she said, trotting up to them.

                “’Course it is, girl! Let’s get some grub!” Joe laughed, causing his two French friends to giggle. The trio walked off to another hall, from which wafted delectable and disgusting scents.


	7. First Day of Class Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the unannounced hiatus! im on spring break so i should probably get out a few more chapters in the next week <3

                “’Kay, ‘kay, ‘kay… Room 2513… 2513… That’s on the second floor, right? Or is it on the fifth?” Adrien mumbled half to himself, half to the surly black kwami curled up in his shirt pocket.

                “Damn if I know,” said Plagg, shifting.

                “Figures,” sighed Adrien, continuing on his search for the classroom. It was the first day of classes, and this semester, Adrien was just signed up for gen-eds. Presently, he was on the search for his English/writing course. He was put in the ESL group for that class, but for all others, he was just with the normal group of students. He didn’t really _need_ to be in ESL per say, but his academic advisor recommended it for him, at least for his English classes for his first and second semester. He eventually acquiesced, but all the other gen-eds he was signed up for were the alternative “harder” options, which didn’t have any ESL options outside of Spanish. As a matter of fact, his English class was not only for French speakers, but just a hodgepodge of people from all over, speaking all sorts of languages, but they tried to group up people who spoke the same thing. It ended up that he and Joe were in that class together, but Joe’d had another class in the morning, so they didn’t walk to it together. They both had an hour for lunch afterwards, though, so they planned on eating somewhere together. On campus, of course.

                “AH-HA!” Adrien cried, pointing at the door with the number “2513” plastered on it. A few people walking by looked at his audacious posture and he sheepishly retracted his finger mumbling an excuse. He went inside to a large lecture hall which was half full already, though the class did not start for another 15 minutes. He walked down the aisle before hearing his name called out. He looked around for his roommate.

                “Adrien! No over— yeah, Adrien!” Joe called, waving his hand. Adrien smiled, but looked questioningly at the front of the hall.

                “Joe, shouldn’t we go down to sit at the front?” he asked innocently.

                “Wha—?” Joe said, blanching. He shook his head vigorously. “No way, dude. I’m perfectly happy here; three quarters of the room away from the professor.”

                “Well,” Adrien said, straightening up. “I need to be at the front. Gotta focus, dude.”

                “Aw come on, man! The people-watching! Don’t tell me you’re not tempted.”

                “How am I supposed to cozy up the professor if they can’t even pick my face apart from all the rest?”

                “Wow,” Joe laughed. “A man on a mission. You sure have your priorities straightened out.”

                “You betcha,” Adrien replied, before heading to the front of the lecture hall. He hadn’t talked to Joe about it, but he was fairly self-conscious about his visual impairment—he needed glasses. He’d worn contact lenses every day since he was about thirteen, and didn’t let anybody catch him wearing his frames. Joe had definitely seen him with them on in the evenings and mornings in the week they’d lived together, and though Adrien was pretty sure Joe could care less about it, but the whole affair made him nervous. They made him seem like his father. Adrien made his way to the front to find the whole front row full already. He cursed internally, but brushed it off. It wasn’t like he couldn’t see at all from the second row—after all, it was way better than trying to squint from the 50th or wherever Joe was sitting. He plopped himself down beside a girl with her dark hair up in a messy bun and greeted her off-handedly. “Good morning.”

                “Oh! G-good morning, Adrien,” squeaked Marinette. Adrien looked up from his shoulderbag into the face of his old classmate.

                “Good morning,” he repeated, slightly stunned. Marinette cleared her throat and Adrien realized he’d frozen. Whoops. He quickly got out his notebook and pen and sat down. They both shuffled in their seats for a moment in silence.

                “So, I guess we have this class together, huh?” began Marinette nervously.

                “Yup,” said Adrien, realizing too late that his curtness made matters worse. To her credit, Marinette plowed on.

                “Wh-what other classes do you have? Maybe we have a similar schedule,” she said.

                “Oh, well I have my schedule; here,” said Adrien fishing a paper from his bag and brandishing it towards Marinette. She opened a cute pink polka-dot planner to reveal her own neatly copied down schedule. She scrutinized the two, holding them up to compare, before exhaling dejectedly.

                “I think we just have this class together,” she said.

                “Oh,” replied Adrien. “That’s too bad, huh.”

                “You’re taking some cool stuff, Adrien. What kind of a class is this, even?” she said, pointing at one of Adrien’s Tuesday/Thursday blocks.

                “Oh, it’s like an advanced physics gen-ed opt out. Thing. My advisor thought I’d wanna be challenged, I think.”

                “Oh,” said Marinette, nodding solemnly. Adrien looked over at her schedule.

                “Woah, are you already taking fashion classes?” he said, making her jump a little. He was probably a little too loud, a little too close, a little too suddenly. He scootched back. “I uh, I mean…”

                “Yeah, I am. A couple actually. It’s all just like, starter stuff, though,” she responded. “Why, are you just taking gen-eds? But like, the opt-out versions?”

                “Yeah,” nodded Adrien. He took a breath in to try and continue what seemed to be a dead-end on his part of the conversation, but was saved by the professor’s entrance. She was tallish and thin with broad shoulders, and wore her hair in a large pile all on the top of her head.

                “Good morning class,” she said in English, giving a few stragglers the hairy eyeball as they scurried to their seats. She continued in French: “Now, you are not going to get out of English, but I would just like to make clear—”

                “Wh-what is she speaking now?” Marinette whispered. Adrien merely stared at the professor, mouth agape. She spoke in no less than six distinct languages before she switched back to English to start discussing the syllabus. Adrien swallowed and looked down to scribble on a piece of paper, twisting it so Marinette could see.

                _I think she’s trying to send the message that we can’t get away with anything_ , Adrien wrote. Marinette nodded solemnly, not looking away from the professor, who handed a big stack of syllabi to a student in the front row to pass along.

                The two ex-Parisians spent the rest of class in relative silence, but casually kept up with a written conversation via Adrien’s notebook, and sometimes sharing a laugh at a classmate’s stupidity, or the professor’s wittiness. They mostly wrote about their past month (they’d only been separated that long, after all) and what life was like in New York. The professor finished a good while before the end of the allotted hour and fifteen minute block, as it was just syllabus day, so Adrien and Marinette walked out of the classroom to meet up with Joe. All three went to the nearest dining hall and sat down to eat. Since Marinette also typically had a scheduled break for lunch after this class (only forty minutes, though), the two boys invited her to continue to have lunch with them, which she willingly accepted. After a while of eating and joking around, Marinette got up to head to her next class, waving goodbye.

                “See ya, Mari!” called Joe. Adrien waved at her back, smiling amiably. He looked down at his notebook, and got a chill as he realized he held their recorded conversation within. He flipped it open to the couple pages they wrote on and looked at Marinette’s cutesy doodles in some of them. Adrien made a consternated noise. Joe arched an eyebrow. “You cool, dude?”

                “Oh, yeah. Sorry man. It’s just kinda weird having Marinette in my life again,” Adrien said, carefully weighing his words before he said them. “I uh, I was pretty much expecting to never see her again. Well, I was always pretty sure I’d see her name on the runway.”

                “Is she good?” Joe asked. “I know she’s doing fashion, but I’ve never seen any of her stuff.”

                “Oh yeah,” replied Adrien solemnly. “She’s good. Very good.”

                “You know fashion, I’ll take your word,” said Joe, crunching a soda can. He seemed to contemplate the aluminum for a moment. “Hey man, did you and her ever have a thing?”

                “No,” said Adrien to his roommate. He looked back down at Marinette’s doodles.

                “Cuz you’re still looking at the notes you passed.” Adrien clapped his notebook shut. “And you both seem pretty awkward around each other, even though you seem to know each other really well.”

                “Well that’ll happen when you’re in the same class together for years and years, you know.”

                “Yeah I know,” said Joe. He shrugged. “It’s no big. I was just wondering. Nosey ole me, right?”

                “Right,” Adrien half-heartedly laughed along with Joe’s joke, but his mind was elsewhere. The mention of having “things” brought up the mental topic of Ladybug, and—

                Ladybug. She had to be in New York. Like, right now. All of the unis in New York were in session by now, so she had to be. At this very instant, she was in the same city as him. And while this information had never been particularly exciting, it was made so because of the foreign nature of the city they were in. The coincidence of two people in the same city being chosen for the same superheroic fate, then _moving_ to the _same_ city, no coordination. Adrien looked down at his bag, where he could see the lump of Plagg’s body wriggling around as he snacked on dining hall cheese cubes. Regardless of his cheesy smell and complaints about the quality of his food, Plagg’s initial mission plan stuck in the young man’s mind. It was his destiny—his fate—to become Chat Noir, to team up with and befriend his partner, to defeat the Big Bad—then—what? Plagg was still around. There was no way of telling if his lady’s kwami would still be around as well. Adrien furrowed his brow resolutely and made himself a promise—he would call Ladybug. Soon. And he would see her again, if it killed him.


	8. First Day of Class Part Two

                Marinette scuttled away from the two young men she’d been eating with, with a scattered agitation not suited to the situation. Her class didn’t start for another 35 minutes. And it was in the building next door. Well, whatever. Marinette had finished eating and used up all her conversation starters. She was sure Joe wouldn’t let the social flow stall, but it was still too risky to hang around and find out. She walked into the building she had her next class in. It was some sort of “majoring in fashion 101” type class that all freshmen had to take. She found the room number (still occupied by the class before hers) and slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor, heaving an enormous sigh. Tikki flew up out of her bag to nuzzle her face.

                “Thanks, Tikki,” snuffled Marinette.

                “Oh Marinette! I know you’re nervous and feeling bad, but new classes are a great time to make a fresh start. And having Adrien in your first class wasn’t too bad, was it?” Tikki chirped, gently petting the new college girl’s cheek.

                “You’re right, Tikki,” said Marinette, still slumping a bit. She’d had a rough time during Welcome Week. Her roommate was distant, and was pretty mean whenever they did interact. She hadn’t made any new friends either. Tikki suddenly darted into her bag. Marinette looked up to see who or what had caused Tikki to hide, and saw a pen drop to the floor. She picked it up and held it out to the person who dropped it.

                “Oh, thanks!” the girl said. She was of comparable height to Marinette, with cutesy round glasses and her long hair in a ponytail, in which were stuck a considerable amount of various writing implements. Her hair was dark brown and her skin was rather fair, though she showed a degree of ethnic ambiguity, which Marinette had seen a lot of both in New York, and in her hometown of Paris. She herself was a product of an interracial couple—it would be cool to get to know another mixed girl.

                “You are, eh, welcome,” said Marinette haltingly. She did a mental facepalm. Of course, her old enemy—the language barrier.

                “You’re early too?” the girl asked pleasantly, sliding down the wall to sit next to Marinette. She seemed to have a bunch of papers gathered in her arms, which she struggled to organize as she talked to Marinette.

                “Yes. My, uh, one class is end quickly,” butchered the nervous French girl.

                “Same boat! I uh, think,” said the girl. She also seemed timid, but shook her head and held out her hand to shake. “My name is Angie, what’s yours?”

                “My name is Marinette,” she said shaking Angie’s hand.

                “Marinette, huh? Your name sounds—would you, uh, would you happen to be French?”

                “Yes!”

                “Oh, well, _bonjour_!” Angie tittered nervously. “I actually took a little French in high school, but I’ve really fallen out of it.”

                “Ah,” said Marinette, nodding, mostly understanding. “I am not good in English, too.”

                “I’m sure you will get a lot better! Where are you from?” The two girls seemed to hit it off, and got to know each other in the vast expanse of time before their class was due to start. Marinette discovered that Angie was in fashion marketing/merchandising, and (with the help of google translate) found out that Angie was a quarter Brazilian, three-quarters American, so the two bonded a bit over their mixed heritage. Eventually, the other class let out, and the two took their seats next to each other in the classroom, somewhat towards the front. They continued to chat until the professor began class. It seemed like it was going to be a really useful class, even though it was totally basic, because it would really get everybody on the same level of what the program would be expecting of its students. Once they were dismissed, Marinette and Angie (which turned out to be short for Angelica) compared schedules and found they had three classes together, including another one in short order after this one.

                “Hey Mari, I was wondering, if you wouldn’t be bothered… Do you think you could maybe try to teach me French again?” Angie asked pleadingly. “I know I’m kind of a dull student but I’d really like to try again. Maybe it would be better learning it from a friend than a school.”

                “Okay!” agreed Marinette, grinning. “But! Is only if you teach me English.”

                “Deal!” said Angie, looking ecstatic.

                “Um, why teach French?” asked Marinette, furrowing her brow. “Eh, your Brazil family? French?”

                “Oh no, no,” said Angie. “Grandma speaks Portuguese, but she never even taught my dad, so it’s kinda dying out in my family.”

                “Ah.”

                “But I started French in high school because I needed a language credit, but learning from that teacher was so awful I couldn’t absorb any of it! But I really do like the language. And the culture! Of course, it matters a lot in our line of work.”

                “Yes! French fashion is very good,” said Marinette, nodding furiously. “I have, uh, work with very good French fashion des-desig—”

                “Designers?”

                “Yes! Yes, a designer. His name is Gabriel Agreste.” Angie seemed perplexed at this.

                “Sorry, um, would you say the name again? I didn’t quite catch it.”

                “Uh, Gabriel Agreste?” Marinette said again, slowly. Angie’s eyes widened.

                “Wait, I’m sure I’ve heard of him! He does, like, kinda everyday wear, right? But like, you know, upscale and everything.”

                “I, uh, I do not understand.”

                “His clothes! They’re like… they’re normal clothes, but very expensive?”

                “Ahhh, yes. Yes is true,” Marinette answered. She herself had absolutely no Agreste clothing, despite having worked with the designer on a number of separate occasions and actually going to school with his main model. “Oh, and many years I am in school with Adrien Agreste.”

                “Adrien? Is he Gabriel’s son?”

                “Yes, is also, eh, model?”

                “Woah that’s pretty cool.”

                “Yes, and he is now here!”

                “Wait. Who is?”

                “Adrien Agreste.”

                “Why? Is there a photoshoot?”

                “No, no. He is in university here. NYU.”

                “Really? Aw man!” Angie was tickled by this news. She gave a shy titter before making an insinuating joke: “Did he follow you here?”

                “What!?” Marinette shrieked. Angie laughed, covering her face.

                “You should—you should really—really see your face right now. It’s hilarious,” Angie gasped out through laughs.

                “Oh, very funny!” said Marinette blushing. She stuck up her nose, feigning nonchalance. It was a ruse. A very poor one. Stupid, stupid, stupid old flame. Not even a real old flame. Just an old crush! Unbelievable.

                “I’m sorry,” Angie apologized through her giggles.

                “Yeah, yeah,” said Marinette, waving her off, falling prey to the infectious gigglebug. The two girls started walking to their next class together, sharing jokes and casually sharing tips for speaking the other’s second language.

-

                Unlocking the door to her room, Marinette peered around the space to search for presence of Kasey. When she proved to be nowhere in sight, Marinette flopped down on her bed with an enormous sigh of relief, a huge grin on her face. Tikki flew joyously out of her bag, flying in loop-de-loops around the airspace in the room.

                “You did it, Marinette! Your first day of classes! And you made a new friend! Congratulations,” the kwami called out triumphantly. Marinette gave a squeal of joy as Tikki flew down to tickle her girl’s belly.

                “Tikki, Tikki, nooooo!” she cried, shrieking as she tried to escape. “Hey, hey, quit it! Oh, I’ve got to call my parents. And Alya!” Tikki conceded and Marinette leapt up to open her laptop to a few messages from Alya about her own first day. As Marinette typed up a response to her long-distance BFF and prepared to skype call her parents (who asked her to call them after her first day, even though it would be super late for them), she felt a nudge from her kwami.

                “One second, Tikki! I’m about to call my parents.”

                “Marinette,” said Tikki, sounding concerned. Marinette spun around in her chair, worried at the tone of the kwami’s voice. The little red creature was holding up the special cellphone used only by the masked superhero Ladybug in cases of crisis, which flashed with a light, indicating a new message. Marinette’s blood ran cold and reached for the phone. Turning it on, she saw there was one new message, from “cat face :P”. Marinette felt the air whoosh out of her lungs all at once. She opened the text, which read plainly:

                _My dearest Lady. Please agree to meet with me on the top of the center billboard in Times Square this Friday night at 9 pm._

                Marinette squeezed her eyes shut. There were a lot of emotions and thoughts swirling around inside her. Honestly she was kind of offended that Chat presumed Ladybug’s civilian form didn’t already have plans for her Friday night. _Better_ plans than spending it with some old comrade. But then again, after the extreme culture shock of being in the US, it would be nice to speak French with a boy who _didn’t_ make her nervous. (Well, he made her a _little_ nervous. He was a bit too spontaneous for her liking.) Plus… it would just plain be nice to see Chat again. A friendly face could go a long way. Marinette groaned and rubbed her face.

                Tikki had read the text over Marinette’s shoulder. “What are you going to do, Marinette?”

                “Well,” huffed Marinette, crossing her arms and looking over her shoulder out the window. “We’ll see.”


	9. NYC Meet-Up

                Chat Noir—the French, masked, spandexed superhero—paced the edge of the tallest billboard in Times Square, NYC. With each footstep, his heels pounded into the hard surface beneath his feet, and every time he reached the edge of the structure, he paused, as if contemplating the void beneath him, before abruptly knife-turning and heading to the other side. This was quite different than waiting around in Paris. For some reason, this city felt more… sinister. Not necessarily out to get him, but simply that it held more dangers for him than did his hometown. There was also the fact that Paris knew him to be a hero, and even though he was supposedly “retired”, it wouldn’t surprise any Parisian to see his body hurtling over their rooftops. New Yorkers on the other hand, were another story entirely. He hadn’t been caught on his way here, and hadn’t transformed any other time in the states, so he had no way of knowing how they’d react. Weren’t superheroes supposed to be common in New York? Chat felt as though he’d seen an awful lot of superhero movies set in New York. But then again, there were a LOT of ridiculous movies set in New York. Like that one romcom- _Moonstruck._ First of all, there was no freaking way that Cher and young Nick Cage in a romance could EVER really happen, so obviously there was fiction set in the Big Apple. Chat sucked his teeth and looked at the analog clock on the screen set in his staff. He could feel Plagg’s influence within him, saying something like,

                _Kid, it’ll be okay. It’s not that late._

                But the thing was that she hadn’t even replied! Not once the whole week, despite Adrien’s waiting on a simple message, anything to say that she would or would not meet him. Even as he prepared to leave for Times Square, he checked for a text. Now he’d been waiting for 40 minutes (granted, he’d been early) and still nothing. He was swinging from rage to longing to desperation to anxiety so fast it felt like puberty again. Weren’t emotions supposed to calm down after that whole mess is done with? Chat peered over the edge again, his shoulders and ears drooping.

                “Perk up, pussycat,” came a soft voice from behind him. He turned, beaming, to see the silhouette of his beautiful Lady, backlit by the harsh but vibrant lights of Times Square. Though her face was in shadow, he could see the traces of a smile on it. He moved up to her and wrapped her sensuously in his embrace. It was unlike the one he’d given her when they’d last met, when he thought it would be for the last time. Then, he had been all nerves and fears, which culminated in a burst of emotion where he desperately clutched her to him. But now, despite the fact he’d just been in despair, Chat had completely recovered; so much so that he could be both smooth and flirtatious. Just how he liked it. Ladybug gave a soft laugh and wrapped her arms around him in return. Chat’s heart gave a tug when she did so. Her laugh, like her smile, was so like his mother’s, now that he could remember what that laugh sounded like. He accidentally squeezed her harder. Ladybug released him and stepped back with a slight look of concern on her face. Without missing a beat, Chat put back on his casa nova face, sidling up to his old partner, putting an arm around her shoulders and gesturing to the square below them.

                “How does my Lady like New York?” he murmured in her ear.

                “It’s… a lot. That’s for sure,” she replied. “I haven’t visited Times Square yet actually.”

                “Well, perhaps you would like to walk around some time together,” he returned. Smooth. Suave. When she didn’t answer for a moment, he continued. “Has the Lady visited Central Park?”

                “No. This is actually only my second week in the states,” she said, folding her arms, continuing to survey the city.

                “You don’t need to be on the lookout,” whispered Chat in her ear. He felt her give a slight shiver. _Oh yes. Killing it tonight_. “No akumas here. No akumas anywhere anymore.”

                “I know,” sighed Ladybug. She leaned into him a little bit more. Chat took the opportunity to slightly graze the claws on the hand around her shoulder up and down her arm. She shuddered again. Suddenly Chat came to the realization not that he was attempting seduction of Ladybug (nothing new) but that it actually seemed to be working (REALLY NEW). With monumental self-control, he removed himself and held his partner at arm’s length. She seemed surprised. “What’s up, Chat?”

                “Ladybug, are you feeling vulnerable right now?” he asked bluntly. She stiffened, a blush rising to her face. Smooth? Suave? Not so much.

                “What do you mean?” she bluffed. _Ooh_ if only she knew how much control it took not to sweep her off her feet every moment they were alone together. Chat persevered.

                “My dearest Lady, you know my feelings towards you; and up until now, you have been adamant about not returning them,” Chat orated, being no stranger to professing his love to this girl. He’d done it on so many separate occasions, but still felt the need to tell her, again and again, how much she meant to him. It wasn’t like their situation allowed for subtle gestures. They all had to be grand. And sweeping. But still he hadn’t gotten the absolute OK to sweep her off her feet.

                “So I have,” said Ladybug cautiously, a bit sheepishly.

                “I can tell when you’re open to… ideas, my Lady.” Ladybug continued to blush, gritting her jaw, and trying not to make eye contact. “I don’t want to be a regret. Not now. Not after all we’ve been through. I can’t settle anymore.”

                “I—okay. I know. I know, Chat, I’m sorry,” Ladybug admitted. “I wasn’t sure about meeting you—that’s why I never even messaged you back. Then I realized I’d regret blowing you off, so I came, figuring you might have gone home already.”

                “I was about to,” Chat disclosed. Ladybug nodded.

                “I could kind of tell. Body posture.”

                “Yeah.” The two 18 year olds stood in front of each other, looking down at their feet. Chat looked over at Ladybug’s feet. They were really pretty.

                “Look Chat—” Ladybug began.

                “I’m sorry—” said Chat at the same time. They both stopped talking. Chat coughed. He hated this. This is what happened. Like, every time. It was bullshit.

                “Chat, I’d love to keep seeing you from time to time, you know?” said Ladybug nervously.

                “Yeah?” said Chat, perking up.

                “Yeah,” whispered Ladybug. She shuffled her feet.

                “Just casually,” said Chat. “As friends.”

                “Yeah,” said Ladybug in an even smaller voice. Chat sighed and nonverbally agreed, as always, to shoulder the world and bear with it. What one does for love.

                “Well,” said Chat in a slightly strangled voice, straightening up. He placed his hands on Ladybug’s shoulders, feeling her both stiffen and soften under his touch, and leaned over to give her a kiss. It landed more on her check than the side of her mouth, though it pushed the envelope. But she seemed to be okay with it. He took a step back and gave her a sadish crooked smile. “Au revoir.”

                “Au revoir,” said Ladybug in return, and stretched up to give him a kiss in return. Hers landed more on the side of his mouth than his cheek, which was _really_ pushing the envelope, but before anything else could be said, the red Lady gave a parting smile and swung off the rooftop into the night; instantly lost in the flashing, glowing lights. Chat gave a low whistle.

                “Fuck, this is a trainwreck,” he mumbled to himself. A voice deep inside him agreed with,

                _Kid, you said it_.

-

                Chat Noir bounded over the New York rooftops, his face burning under the mask. For one, kissing is really weird just in general. For two, it was even weirder when both parties were confused and had no idea where they were presently and where they intended to go. He could still taste her soft skin on his lips, and the ghost feeling of her lips kinda-sorta on his still lingered. He ducked into an alley to transform, an exhausted Plagg falling into his hands, already asleep. He tucked the kwami into his shirt pocket and rounded the corner to walk the block to his dorm. He went inside the building and stood next to a girl in pajama pants and slippers to wait for the elevator. He looked over at the girl and gave an audible gasp. The girl looked back up at him and gave another little yell in return.

                “M-Marinette, what are you doing here?” Adrien asked.

                “I live here!” she said, taken aback. She gave a quick swipe at her eyes before looking at him resolutely again.

                “Me too!” he returned. They were so astonished that they didn’t even register the elevator door opening until someone exiting walked between them. They both laughed nervously and boarded the elevator. Marinette pushed the third floor button as Adrien pushed the fourth. They shuffled awkwardly as the slow elevator rumbled. Adrien felt the incurable need to make conversation. “What were you doing tonight?”

                “Huh?” Marinette said. Of course. She’s in her pajamas. Obviously nothing. Obviously she wouldn’t wanna say that. Stupid Adrien. “I mean, uh, I was just getting food. You?”

                “Oh yeah, yeah, me too,” Adrien lied. He looked down at his hands. “Oh hey, I haven’t met your roommate yet. Is she nice?”

                “No,” Marinette grimaced. Oh jeez. He hadn’t meant to bring up a harsh subject. The elevator dinged on the third floor. “Well, this is my stop.”

                “Hey, uh, I’ll bet Joe’d be happy to have you upstairs for like a movie night or something,” fumbled Adrien, catching the elevator door. Marinette paused.

                “S-sure, that would be pretty fun. Sometime,” she said.

                “Yeah. Cool! I, uh. I’ll see you in class, yeah?”

                “Yeah.” Marinette turned to walk away and Adrien let the door close. When it got to his floor, he shuffled to his room and, unlocking it, went instantly to his bed and flopped down on it, burying his face in the pillow.

                “Rough night?” Joe called from the living room, immersed in a video game.

                Adrien only answered with a strangled groan, which was met with laughter.


	10. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

                Marinette paced her room, tapping her hands against one another. Tikki sat on the bed, watching Marinette go back and forth. Every so often the kwami would take a breath in and open her mouth as if to speak, but every time she did so, Marinette raised a finger, saying, “ _up, up, up_!” without looking up from her path, and Tikki would deflate.

                “Okay, listen Marinette,” said Tikki before she could be silenced again. Marinette heaved an overdramatic sigh.

                “Tikkiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” she whined and got into her bed, curling up into a ball. Tikki flew over her and landed in front of her face. Marinette astutely did not make eye contact, choosing instead to flit her eyes about, between the ceiling and her pillow.

                “Marinette, I think you should talk about what happened and what you’re feeling.”

                “Well maybe I _don’t_ think I should talk about what happened and what I’m feeling.”

                “Marinette,” the kwami groaned. This girl…

                “Okay, okay, fine,” Marinette said, rolling onto her back. She took a few deep breaths, seeming to measure what she was going to say. “Okay, so. It seems like Adrien wants to be friends.”

                “Sure,” Tikki said, somewhat irked that Marinette wasn’t getting to what seemed to be the heart of the problem, but it was getting there.

                “He invited me over for movie night!... Whenever that is. But I have his number. I think. Do you think he’d have changed his number? Wait! Maybe he got a phone for overseas!”

                “You can ask him in class,” Tikki said, obviously urging her on.

                “Okay, and…” Marinette squirmed. “I saw Chat tonight.”

                “You did indeed.”

                “And we kind of kissed?” Marinette said, gesticulating her confusion, her hands raised in the air in front of her. “Well, he kissed me, which could have been normal… which _was_ normal, and then I kissed him back, which also _could_ have been normal, but then oh my god so wasn’t.”

                “Fair enough,” said Tikki, patting Marinette’s shoulder as the girl flipped onto her belly to bury her face into her pillow. Marinette’s muffled voice floated up from the bedspread.

                “It was so easy being Ladybug with Chat Noir when there were actual things to fight. Now there’s nada. And now it’s super hard to be Ladybug. Whyyyyy,” she whined into the pillow. Guiltily, she admitted, “I wish there were still akumas.”

                “No you don’t,” said Tikki hastily. She turned towards the rest of the room and looked furtively around at nothing. A little louder she said, “You _don’t_ wish there were still akumas.”

                “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” mumbled Marinette. Tikki gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad the world is saved and all that junk. Whatever.”

                “Marinette, you did a great job saving the world!”

                “Thank you, but now I have to run my own god damn life and it’s really hard.” Marinette turned her head to face Tikki. Her skin was reddish and patchy from rubbing it so hard into the pillow.

                “Of course it’s hard, Marinette,” crooned Tikki.

                “How many other Ladybugs have you had to console like this, Tikki?”

                “Plenty,” said Tikki deadpan. Marinette laughed, and Tikki smiled. She brushed a strand of hair away from the girl’s face. Suddenly the key turned in the lock and Kasey came in. Tikki quickly flew under Marinette’s pillow as the college girl pretended to be asleep to avoid her roommate—she’d already turned the light out, and had been talking to Tikki only in the light that came through the window. Marinette turned over to face the wall, continuing to feign sleep. Tikki snuggled up under Marinette’s chin and the two eventually dropped off into sleep.

-

                “Hey Adrien, before class starts—” Marinette began, getting into her seat next to Adrien in the second row. Unfortunately she was immediately cut off by the professor beginning class. She groaned silently and Adrien gave her a sympathetic look. Discreetly, he took out his notebook from before and scribbled something in it before tilting it towards Marinette.

                _What’s up?_

_Do you still have the same number/did you change it/do you have an overseas phone?_

                Adrien pursed his lips at the request, glancing up at Marinette after he’d read it, his brow slightly furrowed and his eyes narrow. Marinette flushed. Was this an inappropriate thing to ask? Adrien seemed to read her confusion and hastily wrote on the paper. When he turned it back to his classmate, it had an unfamiliar number on it, along with:

                _Sorry I was just thinking! I did change numbers a while ago I think. I switched plans to come to the US, so you can call/text me whenever_

                Marinette breathed in relief, then wrote her own overseas number down. Adrien snatched the notebook just as she finished, and she looked up to

                “Any problems, students?”

                “None at all, ma’am,” beamed Adrien. The professor continued, and Adrien and Marinette exchanged a look of triumph. They raised their hands to fistbump, and without thinking about it, Marinette mouthed the catchphrase she used as Ladybug, and caught Adrien also mouthing the same. She felt a kind of jolt and pulled her hand away. That was weird. Adrien seemed kind of off put as well. The two scooted their chairs away from each other a little bit and didn’t exchange notes for the rest of class.

-

                “Mari, how was your weekend?” Joe asked, patting Marinette on her back as she walked out of class by Adrien’s side.

                “Wellll,” she said, dragging it out. Then she shrugged. “Eh.”

                “Eh!” Joe repeated. “Well I guess you’ll just have to make next weekend baller, huh?”

                “Sure,” Marinette laughed. As the trio walked into the dining hall, Marinette caught glimpse of someone on the other side. She raised her hand and waved vigorously, calling in English. “Angie! Here!”

                Angie darted over to her new friend. “Hi, Marinette! Are these your friends?”

                “Yes, he name is Adrien, and he name is Joe,” said Marinette. Then she switched back to French. “Angie is in fashion too, and she’s learning French.”

                “Cool!” said Joe. “Nice to meet you, Angie! You should hang with us. Nothing like immersion to get you the knack for a language!”

                “Oh, yeah,” said Angie. She couldn’t really tell what Joe said, but he was friendly enough. She sat down with her food.

                “I also asked Angie to help me with my English,” Marinette elaborated. “Which is, as I’m sure everyone knows, not so hot.”

                “Marinette, we can help you with that too, you know,” said Adrien, with his mouth full. Marinette was slightly taken aback. Talking with his mouth full wasn’t exactly… “model” of him. But then again, he _had_ said how much he was trying to break away from his father. Maybe messy eating is just one new way he has of expressing himself and distinguishing himself from his father’s ideas of who he should be.

                “So Adrien, you’re the son of Gabriel Agreste, right?” said Angie in English. Marinette grimaced as Adrien sighed. Whoops.

                “Yes,” he said, swallowing.

                “And you model, right? That’s pretty cool,” Angie continued, not really noticing she’d struck a vein.

                “Wait, yeah dude, weren’t you talking about getting a modeling job soon?” Joe interjected in French, gesturing with his fork, his food scattering.

                “Oh shit,” said Adrien. The group went silent.

                “Did… you forget?” Marinette ventured to ask. Adrien looked into her eyes.

                “I’ve gotta run,” he said, and immediately got up and, literally, ran out of the building.

                “That boy, seriously, is so forgetful!” Joe said in English, after a few moment of silence.

                “He is so busy in school. When we go to school as children,” Marinette said. It seemed like being late/absent/forgetful wasn’t really something Adrien did.

                “He told me he is used to people ordering him around. Telling him what to do and where to go and when. And now he has nobody to tell him what to do!” Joe laughed. “He is forgetting his bag, his papers, his keys, everything! It is little sad, but very funny.”

                “Poor Adrien,” commented Angie. The three finished their lunches with amiable bilingual conversation before Marinette and Angie got up to leave for their next class.

                “Hey Angie, you should come eat lunch with us from now on,” said Joe. He continued in French. “Like I said girl, it’s all about immersion, am I right? Tax evasion! Elephant foot! Structural integrity! Am I right or am I right, Marinette?”

                “Yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes good naturedly, guiding the slightly confused Angie away.

                “Wh-what—”

                “Joe is funny guy. He says words—words says nothing.”

                “Oh, was he just talking gibberish?”

                “Uhhh yes.”

                “Oh, okay.”

-

                Class was kinda boring as usual, but Angie’s company made it totally worth it. On occasion, the two girls would exchange stink faces at stupid comments from students or holier-than-thou remarks from the professor. About two-thirds of the way through, Marinette felt a nudge from her side. She looked down crossly to shush Tikki, but saw that her kwami was taking a nap, having eaten through half a cookie, and the thing nudging her was her cell phone. If it had an unread SMS message, it would gently buzz until it was looked at. Marinette couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. All the instructions were in English. Marinette gave a furtive look towards the professor, deeply engrossed in their own lecture, then snuck a glance at her phone.

                _hi! it’s adrien \o/_

                Oh jeez. Marinette broke into a sweat, and hastily typed a reply, making sure she wasn’t caught.

                _hey im in class_

_oh sorry. me and joe just wanna know if u wanna hang out this weekend_

_sure sounds fun!_

_cool_

                Boy was this some good news. Her phone buzzed again.

_yo mari girl its joe_

_hey. adrien just texted me abt this weekend_

_you game?_

_yeah!_

_right on B) i got wind of this righteous party so it’ll be super fun_

                Another buzz.

                _marinette stop texting joe_

_… y?_

_cuz hes making fun of me DX_

                Were they…

                _are you sitting next to each other?_ she texted Adrien.

                _yes_ , Joe texted.

                Marinette had to try her best to stifle her laughter throughout the rest of class. When Angie gave her a questioning look, she waved her off, intending to relay the ridiculous conversation after class was over. Which reminded her…

                _can my friend angie come?_

                _the more the merrier_ , texted Joe.

                _stop texting joe_ , texted Adrien.


End file.
